jane-eyre

picturesque; more stirring, less romantic.
The roads were heavy, the night misty; my conductor let
his horse walk all the way, and the hour and a half extended,
I verify believe, to two hours; at last he turned in his seat
and said—
‘You’re noan so far fro’ Thornfield now.’
Again I looked out: we were passing a church; I saw its
low broad tower against the sky, and its bell was tolling a
quarter; I saw a narrow galaxy of lights too, on a hillside,
marking a village or hamlet. About ten minutes after, the
driver got down and opened a pair of gates: we passed
through, and they clashed to behind us. We now slowly ascended
a drive, and came upon the long front of a house:
candlelight gleamed from one curtained bow-window; all
the rest were dark. The car stopped at the front door; it was
opened by a maid-servant; I alighted and went in.
‘Will you walk this way, ma’am?’ said the girl; and I followed
her across a square hall with high doors all round:
she ushered me into a room whose double illumination
of fire and candle at first dazzled me, contrasting as it did
with the darkness to which my eyes had been for two hours
inured; when I could see, however, a cosy and agreeable picture
presented itself to my view.
A snug small room; a round table by a cheerful fire; an
arm-chair high-backed and old-fashioned, wherein sat the
neatest imaginable little elderly lady, in widow’s cap, black
silk gown, and snowy muslin apron; exactly like what I had
fancied Mrs. Fairfax, only less stately and milder looking.
She was occupied in knitting; a large cat sat demurely at
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